


Teaching Richard.

by Grigiocuore



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Coming of Age, Gareth is smitten and doesn't even know it, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Richard has no idea how to woo someone, Teen Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/pseuds/Grigiocuore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a Sentence Prompt on Tumblr. King Richard is young, not ugly and very rich; still he can't hit on a girl for his dear life. Gareth helps (?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teaching Richard.

**Teaching Richard**

  
  


"If you didn't want her to slap you, you shouldn't have been such an idiot."

Richard flinched and glared up at him with all his royal indignation. The impression was a bit ruined by the bloody pulp currently subbing for his nose.

"That was uncalled for. You should act more compassionately.” A pause. "Is it that bad?"

"You're breathing. You'll survive. But it'll stay a bit crooked."

"Crooked?" Richard gasped, one hand pressed to his heart. "My _classic profile_!"

Stay put. Gareth gave a grunt and dabbed his nose with the iced cloth by his side. Richards fingers dig in the stone seat. The idiot was trying hard not to cry, but Gareth wasnt made to be delicate. He should have called the healer: he said he didn't want to be seen like this. Instead he had come to him. Of course.

"At least its been a good blow. Direct, well balanced. The girl got some talent."

How delightful. Richard said grimly.

If you just stop using that ‘Ehy baaae line- 

"I know I messed it up. I'm not stupid."

"Ive never said you are." 

Richard cast a look around the cloister, saying nothing. They had been there before. No matter the circumstances, no matter the preparation, Richard seemed virtually unable to woo anything breathing. Gareth had witnessed four years of increasingly pitiful attempts and still couldnt wrap his head around it. There was no reason, really. He was rich, powerful, just past his twentieth summer, and not so hard to look at.

Gareth considered wavy chestnut hair, narrow hips, those soft flocks of beard that did nothing to hide what a ridiculously pretty face he got. 

_No, not hard to look at._

"Dammit, Richard. It was Amy Two-teeth. It couldn't be that complicated."

"I don't know, Gare. It's, maybe I dont get it. He shook his head in a sad rush of curls. When I got there I- I just felt like throwing up."

"Uh. Well, she's not a looker, but you can't be so pick-"

"No, I mean. I felt sick. Sick like when you're close to a person you like. It's different."

Richard looked away, neck flushing with pink. He still blushed like a dainty maiden. Gareth slammed the cloth back in the basin. 

"What the Hell are you talking about?"

"Oh c'mon Gare. It's what minstrels talk about, right? Richard leant in, lips curled. Love."

Gareth tilted his head. "I don't see what this has to do with talking with girls."

"Well, you know it. It's hard to explain. I'm no poet." He sighed. The castle rumbled around them, somewhere behind the stone walls. "It's, it all starts when you look at them, I think. You can't breathe, and everything else dims and your heart is beating so fast it echoes around like a thunderstorm. The world fades. You feel sick. You feel so happy. And anyway it doesn't matter a thing, because that person is there and so, so somehow everything must be _right_."

Richard sat there, eyes far, cheeks flushed, smiling his small sad smile under a smashed nose. He really believed it. Sure thing. Who else, who else in the whole world but Richard would still believe it? It made Gareth want to punch a wall and laugh at the same time.

"Thats not about - _all that_. Youre not a blushing spouse waiting to be deflowered. You're the King."

“I know it. He spat back. Richard hugged his knees, pulling at the threads of his sleeve. “What if no one will ever like me, Gare? What if I dont belong to that part of the story?"

Richard kept looking away and he felt the urge to punch a second wall. They had been there too, so many times. Gareth was not made to be delicate. But hed come to him. Of course.

"Listen, I cant help you here. He sighed. But I know something for sure and that's you _need_ to learn how to hit on a girl. Leprous peasants do it all the time. You can manage too."

Richard kept silent for a long moment, turned to him."Teach me Gare."

Gareth blinked. "What?"

"Teach me. You always say you've gotten lots of women. You know stuff. Please, I wouldn't trust anyone as much as you on such a delicate topic. "

"You can't be serious."

Please?

No.

“Gare-bear-”

“Dont _Gare-bear_ me.”

" _Pretty please_?"

"Oh for Gods' sake. Don't you have anyone else in the world to ask to?"

"I think no."

The words were sober and plainly-spoken, and probably explicitly-crafted to strike. The fact they were true didnt help. But Richard didnt know. Gareths stories were hard bodies against his, thrusting and grunting, no names and some gold left on the night stand. That was not courting. It was not thunderstorms and poets. He didnt know anything.

"Alright. Damn me, alright."

Richard was up before he could finish the sentence. "For _realies_?"

"Don't go all squeaky now." 

Oh Gare, youre just the sweetest-

"Dont go _squeaky_. Gareth pinched his nose until he didnt feel like beating the crap out of himself. Gods help me. Alright, let's do it. Youre the lady. I'm going to play you. Got it?"

Absolutely-ely-ely."

Gareth opted for a non-compromising grunt. He took some steps down the cloister arches, turned, hands up. First thing, don't walk around like you're wearing some shiny fancy heels."

"I'm _actually_ wearing heels-"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Walk manly - smooth, long, confident steps. She must know you are strong. She must know you can protect her and _fight_ her, if it comes to it." 

Gareth proceeded to show him, marching all brag back to his King and feeling like a total twat.

"Then you. Then you just slid your arm around her, like this" He explained, slipping his arm around Richards back."And pull her close, firm but not hard, mind you. Got it all so far?"

"Aye."

Richard nodded, face intent. He felt different than his women and different from the guards. He was still soft, light enough to scoop up with a single hand, delicate bones pressing through skin and fabric. Gareth remembered it perfectly. Fingers brushing his back, _Please Gare, stay here a bit, its dark already_.

Uh. It feels rather, incisive. I _knew_ you were good with these things.

Gareth grinned. You smartass.

“I mean it. And then, Gare?”

It was the smallest of slips: an inflection in Richards voice. Gareths hand rested easily around the King's hip, his body arching against his touch. It was dangerously close to _something_ different. He knew it wasnt a smart move. He didn't stop.

"Ah, fine. Then you can, you can take her chin, like this."

Gareths fingers reached for him and cupped his cheek, like it had not happened since they were milk-soaked kids. It felt fitting, it fell perfectly in place. Richard bit down on his lip. Gareth couldn't help but staring.

"Look at her, and tell some sloppy minstrel crap of yours. The words don't really matter. The look matters.” Gareth said slowly. Look at her like everything is starting and dying in her very eyes."

He pulled him closer. Richard leant against him, long hands resting on his shoulders. He smelled of soap, of expensive wool, of _Richard_. His voice was barely a whisper. 

"And then, Gare?"

The hand on his shoulder was trembling, fluttering like a moth. Gareth bent forward. It was not a game, no more- it was a something, an old good something and now it was there and it made perfect sense. His fathers voice, a slap of clarity. Oh boyo, you fucker, what is it, what is it. 

_It has never been a game._

"Then you know it too, my liege."

Richard took in a breath; he felt him reaching out. Something warm dripped on Gareth's face. Richard froze.

"Mh. Gare-bear-"

Gareth closed his eyes for a long moment. He could hear all the fuckin Gods laugh above his head. 

"Your nose is bleeding again, isn't it?"

"Aye."

Oh, fuck.

Richard stared at him, eyes innocent, missing nothing. His King was sniffing through bloody snot. The moment was gone. Gareth straightened and looked away and dropped his hands.

He didnt step away.

“Hell. Cmon, we need a cloth. Youre dripping on the floor."


End file.
